


A Lovely Surprise

by Somedrunkpirate



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Almost sexual content (does a heavy making out session count), Bastard!Aziraphale, Crowley angsts, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Jealous Crowley, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Pining, because he is, tender love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 11:29:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20081470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somedrunkpirate/pseuds/Somedrunkpirate
Summary: It used to be precious, now it’s just insulting.Aziraphale is always surprised to see Crowley— happy, but surprised. There are consequences to being unexpected. Certainly when Crowley doesn’t want to be anymore.





	A Lovely Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of a larger ficlet! I'm just back from vacation and about to move out, so the larger works will have to wait. I did kill my beta with the fluff in this so I think it's worthy of a post ;p

“Oh Crowley! What a lovely surprise,” Aziraphale says, handcuffs clicking together as he fails to make a gesture to match his broad smile. He stands out off the holding cell bench, and his face is so full with delight that it should’ve melted away the bars before him. 

_“Is it?”_ Crowley almost snaps, but he swallows it back where it belongs and smirks lazily instead, leaning against the bars. “You get in a hell of a lot of trouble for an Angel. What’s it this time?” 

Aziraphale huffs, his arms falling back down a little. “It isn’t my fault the laws keep changing,” he says, shaking his head sharply. “Jesus left them ten simple rules to follow but all they do is make up even more! How was I supposed to know that taking a walk through a lovely forest is illegal now.” 

“It says here that you climbed over a fence to get there, angel.” 

“That’s quite the exaggeration,” Aziraphale protests haughtily “It was bent over and broken at places, so I assumed it was supposed to be taken away soon anyway.” 

Crowley raises his eyebrows, “So there were no little signs on the fence then?_ Stop, keep out.” _He leans in closer, able to see the twitch of Aziraphale’s eyelashes as he blinks in the gentle breeze of Crowley’s breath. 

“_Private property?” _Crowley adds in a low, drawn out voice, enjoying the slight flush it brings to Aziraphale’s cheeks. If it weren’t for the bars between them, Crowley doesn’t know if he’d been able to stop himself from touching it. 

Crowley pulls back, crossing his arms loosely and adding, as airy as he can, “Following nonsensical rules is kind of your job description, angel. One of those books in that shop of yours should have been able to tell you about the existence of property laws.” 

Aziraphale, who’d been looking away a little guiltily, snaps his head back and stands up straight. A caress of ethereal intensity passes over his face and Crowley feels like he’s in a shower of holy water, just sizzling away underneath Aziraphale’s piercing gaze.

“No one should be able to hoard Her gifts to themselves, least of all a garden,” Aziraphale says stiffly. “I have no interest in those blasphemous little rules.” 

Crowley hides the fact that he quite feels like gasping for breath. He’s had enough practice in pretending that Aziraphale doesn’t affect him— not that Aziraphale ever notices anyway. “Oh please tell me you were the one that broke that fence.” Crowley holds up a hand before Aziraphale can respond.“No, don’t say anything, let me have this.” 

The air in the room finally rushes back in when Aziraphale’s expression eases into a more familiar annoyance. “Crowley…” 

“No, shush. I’m owed that delightful fantasy. I did just bail you out...” He flicks the key out of his pocket and twirls it between his fingers. 

Aziraphale gasps, affronted, and tries to grab it, his hands brushing Crowley’s wrists before being held back by the bars. “Why didn’t you say earlier?” 

Crowley laughs, but does eventually free Aziraphale. He sticks around to smooth the path between the holding cell and the exit of the police station, as there are a number of ways Aziraphale could get himself thrown right back into it again, certainly if he starts a discussion on property laws with the constable who looks like he hasn’t slept in three days. 

“Goodbye now,” Crowley says loudly, pushing Aziraphale by the shoulders and throwing the constable a jaunty wave. 

Aziraphale continues to mutter under his breath for a few more minutes, until he suddenly draws them to a stop, taking Crowley by the elbow and catching his eyes with an earnest look. “Really, Crowley dear, thank you. I didn’t think you’d come.” He smiles, and reaches out to straighten Crowley’s lapels, patting his chest when he’s done. 

“Now,” Aziraphale says, “It was lovely seeing you, but I’m afraid those silly people threw me off schedule. I’ve got some miracle work to do.” 

“By all means,” Crowley says, not meaning a word of it. “Dinner later?” 

“Someday, yes,” Aziraphale says cheerily, and before Crowley can drag a promise out of him, he’s already passed the corner. 

Crowley sighs. He’s used to dealing with ‘some days’, but today it bites at him. Not with the jagged teeth of anger, but more like the pinch of a bug, a mosquito made of annoyance. The kind of tiny frustration that comes up so often you barely notice it anymore, until it grows out becoming something red and irritated, something you can’t quite ignore. 

_A surprise,_ Crowley thinks spitefully. It’s always a surprise for Aziraphale. A chance meeting or a lucky rescue; nothing to be expected, nothing to predict upon. Just a delightful surprise. 

Crowley used to love it: that wide-eyed stare immediately followed by a soft gasp, and then all of it swallowed by a smile forged by radiance. It’s always the same, never lessening in intensity. Aziraphale might try to hide it underneath fussy annoyance but Crowley recognizes it better than anything else. He’d hoarded every moment carefully, keeping them as evidence for the only thing he needs to know: that Aziraphale is affected by his presence as Crowley is by his. Those smiles hadn’t said anything less. 

That is, until Crowley had realised that the ever consistent surprise was proof of something more nefarious. He’d finally learned that being unexpected — no matter how positively so — is not something he wants to be, not with Aziraphale. 

He wants to be relied on, to be trusted. He wants Aziraphale to know the inevitability of his rescue, and his companionship too. Because what is friendship if not the expectations between people? Friends are not surprised by friendly actions, certainly not repeated over thousands of years. They become habit, assumptions and predictions. So much so that sometimes people assume too much and the friendship has to be relearned, the expectations recalibrated to fit ever-changing people as they grow together or apart. 

But Aziraphale doesn’t let them go there. Every gasp, every smile, every delighted exclamation of surprise, is a sign of the stubborn denial Aziraphale insists on maintaining. Theirs is a friendship of stagnation, with an inequality of acceptance that has Crowley almost giving up on the ignored habits between them. 

It used to be precious, but now it’s just insulting.

And today, it also hurts. 

Because for all the precious delight in his features, it tells Crowley again and again that to Aziraphale, he’ll always will be a lovely surprise, but never a friend. 

——————

It’s both unexpected and predictable, the way everything falls back into place within a mere few days; the apocalypse business quickly done away with. Nothing really happened of course, but for mass panic nothing really has to happen, so Crowley has been looking forward to the chaos. Because, even though it did _not_ happen, people do very much remember what had happened. It’s all quite confusing to the little buggers. 

But humanity, as it often does in the face of the unexplainable, carries on with life as normally as they can manage, while shouty theorists hog the telly, spouting all kinds of explanations for this mass hallucination. From drugged water to poison in the air, all theories are hilarious, but Crowley can’t help but be satisfied when the prevailing theory becomes pollution, and ecological activists take their opportunity with both hands and all their teeth, pushing through legislations that would've been impossible months ago. 

Their guesses are all wrong of course, even those who blame sinners for the whole thing. It isn’t all that surprising: humanity has never had a great track record with guessing godly going-ons, 

For Crowley however, it _is_ a little surprising how the puzzle pieces of Before fall into place a little closer to home— literally. Not only had Aziraphale accepted the invitation to the London flat, but he’d stayed over: sharing stories underneath the midnight sky, loose-lipped from the day’s events.

Crowley feels drunk like this, not on alcohol but on relief. Aziraphale is flushed beside him, looking up to the sky with a reverent sigh, and Crowley can’t help but assume he feels the same way. About _everything. _It’s a dangerous thought. 

“I love you,” Crowley says, so abruptly that he doesn’t realise it has passed his lips until Aziraphale snaps his head around. 

“What did you say, my dear?” Aziraphale murmurs, “I couldn’t quite hear you.” 

_That's a lie,_ Crowley thinks, but he allows Aziraphale a moment of respite and repeats with a sigh, “I love you.” 

Aziraphale remains still for another second, a second that seems to last ages, but then a smile bursts through. Loose and lovely. He puffs his chest out with a certain pride and nods to himself. “Ah, yes,” he says unwavering, not a single hint of surprise in his voice. “I thought that might have been it. I love you too, of course.” 

Crowley’s jaw falls open. It’s held in place by muscles and yet it feels like it’s falling through the floor of the balcony and then further still, from the core of the earth into the long tunnels of hell. 

Aziraphale smiles wider and grabs his hand, twining their fingers together. “I would have told you tomorrow. I was planning on it,” he says still so unfairly casual. “But I suppose this is as good a moment as any.” 

Crowley tries to realign his mouth in a more speech-facilitating position and says, a little hoarse, “You don’t seem surprised.” 

Aziraphale wiggles a little in his chair, looking away as the red on his cheek grows deeper. He’s still holding Crowley’s hand. 

“No, I’m not. I just—“ He presses his lips together and shakes his head balefully. “You didn’t got to Alpha Centauri. You wanted to go, you wanted to flee, but you didn’t because I wouldn't come with you. So then it wasn't about the stars, or even safety. It couldn’t be, or you would’ve gone. It was about me. And then realised that always has been. It wasn't about showing off, or luck, or boredom, you came because of me, for me. To be with me. So, I kind of assumed— I’m sorry?”

It all comes in a rush of breath, syllables almost falling over each other as the train of Aziraphale’s thoughts goes faster than the rails his voice can build for him. His lips are twisted now, his certainty washed away in embarrassment. Crowley reaches out, places his free hand to the corner of those lovely lips, presses his palm against the red of his cheeks, and all the little irritations, all the tiny bites, heal at once when Aziraphale leans into the touch and smiles, ever delighted. 

“No, you idiot angel,” Crowley says softly, laughter rumbling in his chest, “Assume. You have thousands of years to go on.” 

“I suppose I had it right this time,” Aziraphale says, nodding slightly into Crowley’s hand. 

“You did,” Crowley says, “and as long as you remember that, you’ll be right again.” 

“Remember what?”

“That I love you”

“Ah,” Aziraphale smiles broadens and he takes a deep, dreamy breath. His eyes have almost disappeared in laughing lines, and his hands around Crowley’s tighten. “What a lovely thing to hear again.”

Crowley presses his lips together for a moment and takes a breath. “Unexpected?” 

“A little, I thought you wouldn’t—“ Whatever Aziraphale sees on his face stops him in his tracks, and he takes their joined hands and presses a kiss to Crowley’s fingers. “That will change very soon, if you keep saying it,” he says, so gently, and Crowley realises that he is understood.

It’s almost too much, to be known so vulnerably, and Crowley tries to hide the sudden feeling of being stripped apart, by taking on a mocking tone, layered so thickly with false detachment that Crowley flinches as he says, “That’s reasonable.” 

But Aziraphale lets him have it. He smiles like the joke isn’t jarring at all, rolls his eyes fondly and pats Crowley’s hand. “I’m glad we came to a reasonable conclusion for you, dear.”

“Bastard,” Crowley says, a little choked up. 

Aziraphale laughs, chime-like and open, and begins to lean forward. Laughter slipping away as he ask, softly, “Crowley, may I assume something?”

Crowley raises his eyebrows, there is something stuck in his throat preventing him from saying a word. He hopes Aziraphale reads it as the yes he’d failed to say. 

Aziraphale takes a deep breath, looking a bit shaky as he nears. Not in a doubtful way, more determined than anything else, though mixed together with a little excitement. An excitement that makes it impossible for Crowley to breathe.

“I think you want this,” Aziraphale murmurs, flicking his gaze from Crowley’s eyes, to his lips. 

Despite the obvious implication, the look, and the hand sneaking around the back of Crowley’s neck, pulling him forward, the insistent press of lips, followed by the immediate heat of Aziraphale’s tongue, manages to come as a complete surprise. 

A damned lovely one. 

Crowley doesn’t know how long they sit there, learning each other by touch. His mouth tingles with the sensation of everything, almost too overwhelming, but it is too difficult to stop. Aziraphale has climbed into his lap and Crowley is so deliciously stuck, overtaken by the presence and the weight on him. Pinned in place just to give and take. 

“We’re at count two,” Crowley says breathlessly, when Aziraphale finally draws back for a second, “Of things you assumed right, that is.” 

Aziraphale tuts, looking down at him with a kind of confidence that Crowley will never, ever tire off. “We’ve barely even started,” he says, carding his hand through Crowley’s hair, leaning forward again. 

Crowley makes a strangled sound. 

“Isn’t that lovely?” Aziraphale murmurs, low and hot against his face, “All the possibilities still open to us?” 

“Angel, please,” Crowley chokes out, not knowing what he’s begging for. 

Aziraphale smiles, fond yet sharp. He slides off, leaving Crowley to grab after him in an uncoordinated fashion. It would have been embarrassing, if Crowley had had any space for such emotion left. Aziraphale takes him by one of his flailing wrists, and he stills immediately. Waiting. 

“Next assumption includes a bed,” Aziraphale says simply, and starts to tug Crowley upright. 

Crowley clears his throat, a flush roaring through his body. “I assume we won’t be sleeping in it.” 

“You are correct, my dear. Completely correct.”

——————

It’s a bit silly, maybe, but Crowley ignores that thought pointedly as he picks up the little box and slides it in his pocket. He managed to weave out of the tiny jewellery shop before Miss Jenkins gets him sucked into three hours of tea and neighbourhood gossip, the little bells tingling behind him. 

Crowley keeps his eyes to the ground as much as he can, but he can’t help but see them— glints of metal in the sunlight. Some gold, some silver. Some with a great diamond and others with more personal gemstones of little worth that likely mean something to the wearer. He wishes he could inspect them. He tries not to compare them to the ones he had commissioned. 

_It doesn’t matter,_ he tells himself. _They will do. _

Marriage for humans is quite the commitment, as their mortal lives only hold a limited amount of time to be spent, so to promise it to one person is something Crowley never quite understood. Until he’d realised he’d done the exact same thing, only his forever — hopefully — doesn’t have an end in sight. Now human marriage doesn’t seem as impressive anymore. 

So it is a bit silly to want to do this: to use a concept that is so small compared to what they are. And isn’t necessary anyway. They know what they are to each other, even when there are no human terms to explain it, so Crowley shouldn’t be bothered when humans assume wrong. 

They don’t do it often, certainly not when they’re together, but for the infrequent

moments they part, people see an empty hand and tend to go from there. It is apparently a bit rare for people of their assumed age, to be in a relationship without rings. 

It’s inefficient miscommunication, that’s all. The fact that certain book lovers will likely stop sending longing looks to Aziraphale is just a bonus.

So it doesn’t really matter. There is no need for a big ceremony, or even a registration. It wouldn’t be their real names on the books anyway. It’s just an exchange of rings and a promise they already made a thousand times over. Nothing to be this tense about. But for some reason, the little black velvet box insists on burning a metaphorical hole in Crowley’s trousers, screaming for a sense of flair that Crowley usually permits himself without thought. 

But it’s Aziraphale, and too much would be— not good.

And yet Crowley can’t help but do _something._ So he gives in to the strange need of making this silly thing memorable, and begins to scheme.

——————

“I have been here before,'' Aziraphale says, alight with realisation. His feet sidestep the wild as he turns around to give Crowley a smile. 

Crowley’s lips twitch, stepping in front of Aziraphale to push the fence open— the one part where it still stands, mostly upright. He holds the gate, waiting, until Aziraphale finally chuckles and steps through. 

"Ever the gentleman," Aziraphale teases, stealing a kiss as he passes. Just a gentle press of lips. A habit, by now. 

"Oh, shut it you,” Crowley says, but he allows Aziraphale to catch his hand blindly, and they continue to walk joined together, as the hills of flowers and cherry blossom trees open in front of them. 

"Where to now?” Aziraphale asks, brushing his thumb against Crowley’s. 

"You know the way.” 

Aziraphale gives him another, smaller smile. “Oh yes, I do remember. There was a cottage, and a very angry man. I assume this man is not here to bother us any longer?” 

“Six thousand and forty three,” Crowley says. 

“You have to stop counting some day. It’s probably not even correct anymore.” 

“Do you have a more accurate number?” 

Aziraphale huffs fondly, and begins to lead Crowley to the cottage. “Be careful of the flowers, dear.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll follow in your footsteps.” 

Aziraphale squeezes his hand as they continue walking in silence, just enjoying the sights together. Crowley has traveled here before, in preparation, but now with Aziraphale by his side, he can truly see through his eyes. He was right, that afternoon in a grimy holding cell, more than a hundred years ago now. This isn’t something silly laws can hold. Crowley bites his lip, hoping he hasn’t just made a big mistake. 

They reach the cottage after a little while of winding through the forest paths. It’s hidden behind a great weeping willow, which has grown even more imposing over time. The cottage had been abandoned long ago, but Crowley had found some people in the village nearby who’d been more than happy to reinstate the glory of a property rich in history. It looks lovely now, clean and cared for, standing proudly beside a gentle stream of crystal clear water, lotuses drifting between the smooth river rocks. 

There is a small patio, where a bench hangs on large twisted ropes from the balcony above. Beside the bench is a little table, filled with a brunch for two. Fresh berries out of the forest, milk from the farm nearby, and homemade breads gathered together to welcome the new neighbours. Crowley is glad he’d been able to convince them to hold off on the welcoming party for a few days. 

"You know those blasphemous property laws?” Crowley begins, as Aziraphale remains speechless for long enough to let nerves bubble up. “Well… I used them to our advantage.” Crowley spreads his arms, gestures to the meadow, the cottage and the forest. “This is ours now. “

Aziraphale stills, his face thoughtful in a way Crowley doesn’t quite know what to do with. He’d expected Aziraphale to love this, until he’d stepped over the fence and realised that maybe this isn’t supposed to be gifted, as any gift has to be owned first, in order to be given. 

“The fence will have to go,” Aziraphale says finally, a hint of steel behind the words. “I don’t care what the rules say, the forest is for everyone.” He flicks his head around the meadow, passing his hand over the little bridge. “Though I suppose now that this house is ours, we’re allowed to keep a bit of the garden to ourselves. Not too much though.” 

“Of course, angel,” Crowley says, a little too breathlessly. 

Aziraphale looks at his face then and smiles, eyes twinkling. “Oh you were worried there for a second, were you?” Crowley was already walking towards him, magnetised, but Aziraphale hurries the process by tugging him into an embrace “I love it, of course I do. Thank you, my darling.”

The tightness in Crowley’s chest releases immediately. "Are you surprised?”

"A little,” Aziraphale says, muffled against yoke of Crowley’s shoulder. He draws back and adds, “I knew you were planning something but I didn't know it was this.” He smiles, and his eyes glint with something clever. "I do know what is hidden in your back pocket, however"

Crowley groans. “This was supposed to distract you from—” He shakes his head and sighs sighs. “I shouldn’t even have tried.” 

"It isn't my fault that you’re so predictable,” Aziraphale tells him, and then pulls an innocent expression. “It was the bearded fellow, I assume? What was his name again... Thomas, or Timothy? "

"Never mind his stupid name, “ Crowley grumbles, pulling Aziraphale closer. _Mine,_ a stupid part of him thinks with satisfaction. He ignores it, even though he agrees wholeheartedly. 

Aziraphale is chuckling against his chest. ”I’m sorry I ruined your surprise, dear. "

"No, it’s alright. It’s inevitable at this point. "

"You told me to assume. "

“I did, but I didn't know then how good you’d be at it,” Crowley says, and presses a kiss into the whips of curls against his chin. “Next thing I know you’ll be reading my thoughts before I even thought them.” 

Aziraphale hums contentedly. “I’ve learned you, love. But you’re still a little unexpected every day."

"Not boring, then?"

“Never boring,” Aziraphale promises, and sneaks a hand to Crowley’s back pocket.” Now let us see those rings of yours. "

Crowley laughs. “Go ahead.”

Aziraphale blindly takes out the box, hands lingering maybe a little too long, and judging from the smug smile on his face, he’s doing it completely on purpose. 

But all the mischief leaves at once, when Aziraphale finally removes the top of the box and reveals the two shining rings pressed into a cushion of gold silk. 

“What do you think?” Crowley says, heart beating in his throat. 

Aziraphale swallows loudly and murmurs “_Oh,_” under his breath, touching the rings so gently like he’s afraid they’ll break. When he looks up to Crowley, there are tears in his eyes. “My dear, this might not have been a surprise, but it’s still unbearably lovely. You couldn’t have done better. Not with any of it.”

Crowley closes his eyes for a second, trying to breathe, but he can’t help but say it, like a habit, or maybe something more than that: ”_I love you."_

Aziraphale smiles, before taking one of the rings and putting it on his own finger. When he takes Crowley by the chin after, tilting him down to catch his gaze, there is a cool press of metal against the warm flush of his cheeks. 

“I know, you silly man,” Aziraphale says, almost chidingly. “I love you too. "

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah like I said at the top, larger good omens works are gonna have to wait bc of Real Life. I'm also starting uni soon so everything is a mess. The amount of people that have subscribed to me since On The Matter Of Touch is kind of terrifying, and I hope yall understand that I haven't posted a larger work yet. I did write like 40 a4 pages of notes during my vacation, so things are certainly brewing. 
> 
> In the meantime I'll be posting a the man from uncle work every sunday starting this week. It's a story I've been working on for 1,5 years and I'm really proud of it, so if you wanna risk it then please join! It's a prequel to Drowning Deep, so you do have to commit to reading that one first, otherwise you'd understand about 20% of it. But it's all AU so you don't need to have seen the canon for it all to make sense. If you really liked my writing style, maybe that will tide you over until there is more Good Omens content on the horizon <3 
> 
> You can also send me prompts on tumblr and who knows, it might spawn another ficlet :D Same url as here! 
> 
> Again thank you so much for your love of On The Matter Of Touch. We're so close to 2000 kudos and I'm going Insane.


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